


Online

by thomasjeffersonsmacaroni



Series: The Other 51 [7]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Christmas Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 03:45:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8650165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thomasjeffersonsmacaroni/pseuds/thomasjeffersonsmacaroni
Summary: In person, Alexander Hamilton despises his co-worker, Thomas Jefferson. Online, he's a fan of fellow mental health blogger macaroniman. So what happens when those worlds collide?For the Jamilton Secret Santa I'm hosting (didn't make a collection for it because I'm a dumbass who can't figure them out).





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [s0r0hj0ne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/s0r0hj0ne/gifts).



> This prompt was so much fun to write thank you so much for giving it to me

"And that is why my proposed amendment must be passed: it will be beneficial to both the company and the customers."

Alexander Hamilton sat down and took a deep breath. Surely after he had presented carefully crafted, reasonable evidence, his fellow office workers would appreciate what he had to say.

CEO George Washington looked at him and nodded. "Mr. Jefferson, your response?"

Mr. Jefferson was looking down at his feet and spinning around in his swivel chair while giggling softly to himself.

"Mr. Jefferson?" Alex asked, barely managing to keep the intense feeling of anger out of his voice.

Jefferson finally looked up. "Oh, I'm sorry. Were you still talking? I stopped paying attention after the first hour of so of your shitty opinion."

"Should I begin again?" Alex glared at the much taller man as he moved to grab his notes and stand back up.

Jefferson shook his head. "Don't worry. I was listening, even though I wish I wasn't. And you're wrong."

He grabbed the notes that he had somehow been taking, then stood up and shot a pointed glance at Alex.

"First of all, the changes that you claimed would be made to customer service will never happen, because..."

Jefferson's rebuttal was nowhere near as long as Alex's speech, but both were known in the office for their overly long and detailed proposals, so Washington was forced to cut him short to allow someone else to speak. After that, the meeting proceeded smoothly, though Alex and Jefferson continued to glare at each other from across the table.

No one else noticed Alex's clouding vision, or his nervous sweats, or his quickening breathing or the fact that his fists were so clenched that his fingernails practically cut open the skin of his palm.

No one noticed, but by the end of the day, five thousand, one hundred and sixty four people knew.

 

Alex Hamilton's blog, which had the rather unoriginal title  _Living with Panic Disorder,_ was for him an escape from reality of sorts. Anonymous under the slightly more creative screen name sliceofham, he could freely post about his anxiety attacks and coping methods without fear of being judged. It was an escape from the complex politics of the office, from the full-on brawls that happened every time he or Jefferson spoke.

And fellow mental health blogger macaroniman was even more so.

He had first stumbled across him, a man suffering from social anxiety with the blog title  _The Life of a Macaroni Lover_ and fifty or so followers, while gleaning inspiration for his own blog. Becoming more and more invested in his posts, and somehow relating to them even though their mental illnesses were very different, Alex had quickly followed him. macaroniman had followed him back after a day, they had started commenting on each other's posts more and more, and their friendship only escalated from there, to the point where they even exchanged personal numbers so they could keep talking. Many fans of one were also fans of the other, and there was even a dedicated community who called themselves the HamMacs and were intensely determined to get them together.

And so it was macaroniman whom Alex first texted after he got home, flopped onto his couch, and typed out a lengthy blog post about his encounter with Jefferson and the subsequent attack.

_To: Macs: Long day today, can I rant?_

_Macs: You know you don't even need to ask anymore, just do it :)_

_To: Macs: Haha, thanks. Anyway, I had a panic attack today. And it didn't feel good. They never do._

_To: Macs: And I couldn't distance myself from the situation because I was in a meeting with my asshole co-worker._

_Macs: The one who won't stop insulting whatever you say?_

_To: Macs: Who else?_

_Macs: Ugh I'm sorry_

_Macs: Do you want some memes to ease your suffering?_

_To: Macs: If I ever say no to that then feel free to just fucking murder me on the spot_

_Macs: Give me one second_

While Macs pulled up memes from Instagram or Tumblr or wherever it was he found them, Alex went to the kitchen and grabbed a bag of chips and a bottle of water. He had forgotten to eat lunch earlier in the day, as he often did, and he was  _starving._ As he returned to his couch to grab his phone and sit at the table, he thought about his scary it was that his fellow mental health blogger understood him so well.

When he opened up about his panic disorder to people that he wasn't too close to, it seemed like they went out of their way to coddle him in any way that they could. It was kind of creepy, actually. Even his friends, like the squad and the Schuyler sisters, tried to be supportive whenever they could, but at times, they were just _too much_.

Not macaroniman. In times of need, when the first thing that Alex needed was comfort and the last thing was to be coddled, macaroniman sent him memes.

They had other things in common, too, less deep but no less personal. Both preferred fall as their favorite season, both were willing to kill a man over Harry Potter (Alex was a Slytherin, Macs was a Ravenclaw), and, possibly the most important, both pronounced GIF with the soft g.

But to Alex, all that macaroniman was was a stranger on the Internet, one whom he had an extremely small chance of actually meeting.

_If only, though. If only._

 

_Macs: SLICEY_

_Macs: SLICEY_

_To: Macs: Sorry I was in the shower_

_To: Macs: WHAT_

_Macs: Remember I was telling you about my asshole coworker who won't stfu_

_Macs: So today he came to my cubicle to harass me about finishing my part of a collaboration w/another coworker and I said that I was too busy to finish it so he got all in my face_

_Macs: And he's actually kinda hot??????_

_Macs: Like I hate myself for saying this but he's really hot if you ignore his inability to stfu and his shitty political opinions_

_To: Macs: I ship it_

_To: Macs: Enemies to lovers trope FTW_

_Macs: Slicey idek if he's gay_

_Macs: And that would have to be a really big jump_

_To: Macs: Hate sex?_

_Macs: NOW we're talking_

_Macs: I see your enemies to lovers and raise you hate sex to friends with benefits to lovers_

_To: Macs: Perfect_

_To: Macs: Our fans will be heartbroken but oh well_

_Macs: That can be taken two ways and that makes me love it even more_

_Macs: Seriously though this is prob just a superficial crush_

_Macs: The man himself is insufferable_

_To: Macs: I know what you mean_

Jefferson had been an asshole again that day. He had promised to finish his third of the project, but when Alex had asked him about it, he had rather condescendingly said that he hadn't even started it.

_Ugh. What an asshole._

Alex sighed and bade goodbye to his friend. He had work to do.

 

"You can do this, Alex."

Alex was surrounded by his friends John, Laf, and Herc, and all of them were looking at his phone expectantly.

"Ask the macaroni man out," John clapped him on the back and kept his hand there.

"John, I'm not asking him out." Alex turned around and looked at him, already regretting that he had invited his friends to give him encouragement. "I'm just asking where he lives to that we can meet up."

"Close enough." Herc softly punched him in the arm. "Just do it already, I'm getting tired."

"Fine." Alex said this in a joking groan, but he was laughing as he opened up his messages and typed his text.

_To: Macs: I'm sorry if this is forward, but where do you live?_

The reply came almost instantly, to the group's mutual relief.

_Macs: Don't worry! I live in Manhattan in NYC. What about you?_

"Holy shit!" the four said at the same time. Alex looked around at his friends and grinned.

"He lives in Manhattan! We can hang out!"

_To: Macs: HOLY SHIT DUDE SAME_

_To: Macs: Do you want to meet up some time?_

_Macs: OMG YES THAT WOULD BE AMAZING_

_Macs: Does Saturday afternoon work for you? We can meet up at that coffee shop with the really good black and white cookies_

_To: Macs: LET'S DO IT_

_To: Macs: I'm legit so excited about this like holy shit_

_Macs: ME TOO_

"Tomcat's going on a date," Laf teased, running a finger under his chin. "Better prepare him as well as we can. Meet me at my house before you go."

"You got it."

 

Saturday couldn't come quickly enough.

At work, Alex was fidgety, even more so than he usually was, so much that he annoyed all of his coworkers, especially Jefferson, who rolled his eyes every time Alex spoke for some damn reason. No one understood except for his friends, especially Peggy, who volunteered to be at Laf's house to help Alex fix himself up for his date.

"I can do a  _killer_ eyeliner," she said in a Skype call, eyes lighting up with excitement. "Angelica can confirm."

"I can," said Angelica. "Alexander, if you don't let Peggy do your makeup, you're missing out on a lot."

"Gotta look the best for your date," Eliza giggled.

"IT'S NOT A DATE!" Alex kept repeating, but, as he confided to John the Friday before, there was a part of him that wished that it was.

"I don't know," he sighed. "I just...don't know."

"You'll know tomorrow," John comforted him, hand running through his hair in an attempt at relaxation. "I promise."

 

Saturday morning was hectic, Saturday afternoon even more so. Six people were floating through the house, picking out outfits, choosing hairstyles, testing out different eyeliners and concealers and highlighters or whatever it was that Laf and Peggy were trying to use on him. Some sort of upbeat pop playlist, most likely put together by Eliza and John, was playing in the background, and Alex was very tempted to just leave without even brushing his hair.

"Gotta look the best for your date," Eliza repeated whenever he tried to say anything, and Alex was surprised by the lack of bitterness in her voice. They had dated once, after all, before they had broken up due to their relationship not really working out as well as they would have hoped.

"All right, hold still." Peggy approached him, liquid eyeliner in hand, after his long hair had been done in a prim bun and after Angelica and Herc had picked out a polo and khakis. Painstakingly, she applied a pencil line and mascara, and then they sent Alex on his way for his first encounter with Macs.

_To: Macs: All my friends think this is a date, I'm wearing a polo and khakis and eyeliner rn_

_Macs: I always dress fancy, so don't be surprised when you see me_

_Macs: I'M SO EXCITED I'M ALMOST SQUEALING IN MY FRIEND'S CAR_

_To: Macs: ME TOO_

They arrived at the coffee shop, and Laf pushed Alex out and clapped him on the shoulder.

"You've got this, mon ami," he whispered with a smile. "Come home with a guy or don't come home at all."

_To: Macs: Just came in, where are you?_

_Macs: I'm sitting in the far back next to the window that looks out on those pink flowers_

_To: Macs: Okay_

When he finally found the table that Macs was talking about, it was already occupied by none other than Thomas Jefferson.

"What are you doing here?" Alex asked accusingly, looking up from his phone.

"I'm waiting for someone," Jefferson snapped. "Please fuck off. I already see you enough at work."

"I'm looking for someone. And they're supposed to be right here."

He looked down at his phone again; he had gotten texts ever since he had looked up from it.

_Macs: Ugh work asshole is here in front of me getting in my face_

When he looked back up again, Jefferson's eyes were wide, and he looked as if he would fall onto the ground if he wasn't gripping the edge of the table.

"You're sliceofham, aren't you?" he asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

"And you're macaroniman." Realization dawned on Alex, realization that he wished he could push back where it belonged.

Jefferson said nothing more, and neither did Alex; both of them continued to stare at each other and wish that they were anywhere else but here. After what seemed like a minute of this, Alex sat down at the table in front of him.

"Well, we got reservations," he said in defense when Jefferson's eyes widened even farther, "so we might as well eat here."

That was the last thing that either of them said to each other for the rest of the meal. They seemed to be operating on some kind of unspoken agreement: order food, eat it without a word, then split the bill evenly and get the hell out of there. No mental health conversations, no laughter, no sign of any of the connection that they had experienced online or via text,  _nothing_ was like Alex had imagined the meeting as being.

When they finished their meal and paid the bill, he was just as happy to leave as he had been to enter.

 

Alex went back to his house, flopped onto the couch, and screamed softly. When his friends texted him, asking how it went, he replied to no one but John, to whom he merely said,  _It's Thomas._

 _Thomas Jefferson?_ John texted back, bewildered.

_To: 29 Turtles: yup_

_29 Turtles: Oh man I'm so sorry :(_

_29 Turtles: Want to talk?_

_To: 29 Turtles: Not really_

For months,  _months,_ he had told his sworn enemy his secrets. For months, there was a space outside of both of them where they were no longer enemies. For months, they actually had some sort of a strange connection, or even more than a connection, past any than Alex had experienced with anyone.

Of all the people that macaroniman could be, he had to be Thomas Jefferson. Of course. 

 

Whatever unspoken agreement they had made with that horrified glance at the coffee shop continued when he arrived at work, and the entire office was talking about some sort of policy that the president had enacted, a policy that Alex himself hated but he knew Jefferson would love. It seemed as if all of their co-workers were looking between them, waiting for the argument to start.

But it didn't. Somehow, arguing didn't feel right in this situation.

Alex sighed and made his way back to his cubicle, on the opposite side of the room from his enemy.

"You and Jefferson are being extraordinarily civil today," Mr. Washington complimented him during their break. "I think this is a change I can live with."

"Me, too," Alex lied. In reality, he wasn't sure whether he missed his debates with Jefferson or not. He couldn't know until he figured out where their relationship stood.

"Thank you, Mr. Hamilton." Mr. Washington patted him on the shoulder and went to make himself coffee.

"No problem."

 

There was nothing that happened that day for Alex to vent to macaroniman about. No panic attacks, no asshole co-workers, no feeling of everything being  _too much._

Just a feeling of emptiness that nothing he knew could fill.

He and macaroniman were still following each other. He checked. But there were exactly 11 other people who followed Alex whom he also followed back, and now Jefferson was on the same exact level as those 11.

_Of all people, Thomas Jefferson._

 

Days passed like this. On one of them, Alex had a panic attack for unrelated reasons. And then it was approaching Christmas, and he was at the house that Angelica and Eliza shared, stuffing his friends' suitcases with clothes.

"I still feel bad that we couldn't take you along," Peggy complained, standing on tip-toes to reach a backpack.

"Cruises are expensive," Alex said with a smile. "And it's fine, honest. I can stay home and do work and text you and stuff."

"We're smuggling you in our suitcase, I've decided," joked John, reaching over Herc to get his sweater.

"I wish. I saw that ship menu, and  _let me tell you._ If you don't smuggle food for me, then we're no longer friends. Deal?"

"Deal."

"We'll bring you souvenirs from everywhere, too," said Eliza. "Maybe some key-chains, or a mug for your intense coffee consumption. I don't think yours is nearly big enough."

"I don't think so, either," said Alex. "Get me a  _huge_ one. As big as my head."

Then he remembered how often he had joked about his coffee addiction with macaroniman, before he realized that he was Thomas Jefferson, and he was filled with a sudden pang of sadness.

_A huge mug of coffee. Huger than my feelings._

 

The day after, Alex stood at the port of the cruise ships, hugging his six friends one by one.

"See you on the 26th, Alex," said Angelica. "Don't forget to text."

"I won't. Don't forget to send photos. And don't forget the food."

"And the gigantic coffee mug," added Eliza. "Can't forget that."

"That's the most important part," Laf smiled.

"I'll miss you," Alex told them, pulling them all into one gigantic group hug.

"We'll miss you too."

 

Alex didn't know what happened after that.

Maybe it was because there wasn't anyone in his immediate vicinity to pull him away from his work. Maybe it was some sort of rage that had been kept away before but now took him by the reins and yanked him forward. Or maybe it was nothing at all, just his ambition acting up again.

Whatever happened, he poured his mind, body, and soul into his work, running farther and farther and farther ahead, demanding more and more and more, even doing the work of his co-workers and getting  _them_ ahead.

He forgot to eat. He forgot to sleep. If Mr. Washington hadn't found him staring at the coffee machine and watching peacefully as it overflowed with scalding hot water, he probably would have died.

"Alex, are you okay?"

"Wha?"

"I said, are you okay? I'm worried about you."

"'M fine, 'm fine."

"No, you're not. Listen, do you have someone that you can go to? A friend or...loved one? Something's happening to you while you're living alone."

"All m'friends are on a cruise," Alex mumbled.

Mr. Washington looked at him and fiddled with his watch in thought.

"All right. I'll talk to Jefferson. You've been acting civil lately. So maybe he would tolerate you staying at his house. At least until your friends come back."

Alex's eyes widened, and in the step back that he took, it was only his hand on the counter that prevented him from slipping in the hot water that he had spilled.

"No, please," he begged, shaking his head. "We'll just end up arguing again."

"I think your feud is over," said Washington calmly. "And even if it isn't, and if whatever just happened is temporary, then it'll do you two good to get along."

They had gotten along, once. And it hadn't done either of them good.

But Alex didn't say that to Washington, instead choosing to merely nod reluctantly.

"Yes, sir. I suppose so."

"Good. I'll talk to Jefferson. I'd like to see order in the office."

 

Jefferson said yes, though Alex had little doubt that he said it angrily and very, very reluctantly. Alex said as much to him when he moved in with two suitcases, and Jefferson invited him into the guest room.

"You're right," Jefferson nodded. "I think it would be better if we didn't talk."

"You're right."

Jefferson left. Alex pulled out his laptop and opened Google Docs to continue working. That was the last that they saw of each other before it was dinner and Jefferson opened the door and slid a plate of mac and cheese inside.

 

Alex was a ghost inside the house, he told his friends during a Skype call, and he honestly wasn't entirely sure what the purpose of his being here was.

"It's supposed to improve my mental health," he explained, "but it isn't."

"Take a break!" begged Eliza. "You don't need Jefferson for that."

"I  _can't._ I have too much work to finish before everyone leaves for the holidays."

"Alex, knowing you, you're probably decades ahead," John pointed out. " _Please._ "

"Fine, I'll try," sighed Alex. "For you guys, I'll try."

He didn't try.

The patterns that had happened before Washington had noticed began to repeat themselves, only he remembered to eat three square meals a day, and even afternoon and midnight snacks, because Jefferson brought them all to his room. If it weren't for that, he may have been dead.

It was just a few days before Christmas when Alex began to get chills.

He touched his forehead. It was warm, almost hot, and his throat felt scratchy.

If he were at home, he would start taking meds and maybe sleeping more and be done with it. But he'd be  _damned_ if he asked Thomas fucking Jefferson for help.

Alex reached into his suitcase and wrapped a blue fuzzy scarf around his neck. Then, he picked up his laptop and wrote through his pain.

 

The next morning, when Jefferson brought him breakfast - bacon and eggs - Alex vomited all over his bright pink slippers. That was when Jefferson put down the plate, took away his laptop, and returned with a bunch of different kinds of bottles and a huge, fluffy blanket.

"Give me back my laptop, you asshole," snapped Alex. "And  _put me down,_ for fuck's sake!"

Jefferson had picked him up and was tucking him into the bed, pure anger on his face.

"I'm not doing  _shit_ until you get better. Do you have any allergies?"

"No. But I'm not-"

"Yes, you  _are._ Take this."

Jefferson opened one of the small bottles and pulled out a pill.

"And don't even  _think_ of refusing. Washington told me to take care of you, and I'm pretty sure that includes making sure you don't vomit your insides out onto my brand-new slippers. Now, there's something I forgot to get at the supermarket, so I'll be gone for about half an hour. Don't even  _think_ of trying to find your laptop. I hid it in a very secure place."

"No one calls it the supermarket anymore, asshole," Alex snapped.

"Fuck off."

The garage door opened, and then it closed. Alex had wanted to immediately spring up and search for the laptop, but when he sat up, he felt so weak that he immediately dropped back down. He stayed in that position until Jefferson came home, hair in a bun and carrying a grocery bag in one hand and a large plastic bowl in the other.

"I see you didn't do anything," said Jefferson. "I'm  _immeasurably_ proud of you for that. You're going to vomit into this, and I'll bring you some mashed potatoes and food in about an hour or so. All right?"

Alex merely groaned in approval.

"Thought so," said Jefferson, stepping forward to put the bowl onto his lap. Alex didn't know why he pretended that he didn't notice the say he was sweating  _way_ more than usual, or the way his hands were shaking, or how much of a hurry he seemed in to get out of the room.

Jefferson hadn't taken away his phone. So Alex reached for it, pulled up the contact information for Macs, and punched in a message.

_To: Macs: Did you have an anxiety attack?_

Five minutes, and a distant groan from the other side of the house, then a buzz.

_Macs: no_

_Macs: please don't text me_

_To: Macs: so you did_

_To: Macs: you don't have to lie to me you know_

_Macs: stop texting me_

Jefferson brought in the fish and potatoes, along with a fork, and his face was stone.

The next day, Alex tried again.

_To: Macs: I have some memes do you want to see them_

_Macs: i hate memes_

_To: Macs: [nine photos]_

_Macs: fuck off_

 

Jefferson only spoke to Alex to tell him important things or to ask him important questions.

 

_To: Macs: you know you can't hide forever_

_Macs: there's nothing to hide from_

_Macs: if you text me one more time i'm blocking you_

_To: Macs: listen thomas_

_Macs: don't call me thomas_

_To: Macs: MACS_

_To: Macs: i know you had an anxiety attack when you brought me that dinner_

_To: Macs: let me help you, please_

_To: Macs: I miss you._

 

_Your last message was not delivered._

"I blocked your number!" Jefferson yelled. "Maybe now you'll finally  _leave me alone._ "

Alex looked down at his phone. Tears pooled in his eyes, turning everything blurry, but he wiped them away with one free hand.

When he checked later, Jefferson had unfollowed his blog.

 

That evening, Alex decided that he needed to leave Jefferson's house. So at night, while Jefferson was sleeping, he packed his two suitcases with all of his belongings, leaving behind all of the meds that stood on his bedside table. And in the morning, about an hour after Jefferson left for work, Alex grabbed his laptop from under Jefferson's pillow, put it into his backpack, and left through the front door on woozy legs.

Under his physical state, he thought as he left through the front door, he would probably crash into something while trying to drive. So he pulled out his phone, punched in the number on Google Maps, and began the long, tiresome trek back to his house. With his illness, combined with the very fact that he was walking and not driving as he usually did, it was a slow journey, and he wanted to collapse almost every two seconds.

After a couple of streets, he did indeed collapse, and his phone dropped out of his hand and dropped onto the sidewalk. When he picked it up to inspect the damage, the entire screen was shattered, and Google Maps for some reason had stopped working. His chest squeezed tightly, and he was sweating, and he felt the sudden rhythmic thought of  _I want to die._

_Oh, no. Jesus Christ, no. Of all the times..._

Alex tried his hardest to breathe. He sat down and took deep breaths, in, out, in, out. But they weren't deep, only shallow, and they didn't help, only squeezed his chest tighter and tighter and tighter.

How much time was passing? He didn't know.

_I have to get home. I have to get home._

He picked up his phone and kept walking, now even weaker than before, and not knowing the way. A left turn here, a right turn there, and soon he was lost in the New York City streets, and his phone was buzzing with a call from Macs.

"You finally unblocked me." He spoke with difficulty.

" _Where the hell are you?_ " A shriek came through the phone, so loudly that Alex jerked it away from his ear.

"Stop...screaming."

"Hamilton, either you tell me where you are right now, or I go and drive out and hunt you down, and you're not going to like- _Hamilton. Are you having a panic attack?_ "

"No," said Alex, still petty from when Jefferson had lied to him. Then he collapsed onto the ground and sat on his suitcase.

"Hamilton, I'm tracking this call. I know where you are, and it sure as hell isn't home. Stay here. I'll go out and find you."

Ten minutes. That's how long it took, according to Alex's clock, for Jefferson to drive over. His car came speeding around the corner, then halted to a stop suddenly, as if he had been driving frantically at an illegal speed. Then Jefferson himself hopped out of the driver's seat, ran to him, knelt down, and put his hands on his shoulders.

"Hamilton. Please try to breathe, okay?  _Please._ "

Alex had tried to breathe, had been trying for the longest of times. But this was a really severe one. It wasn't going to just go away by breathing. Even Jefferson could see that, as he sighed deeply, and his eyes widened in a mixture of frustration and worry.

"Hamil- _Alexander._ Breathe with me. Where are you now? Who am I?"

Grounding questions. Macs knew that they worked wonders on most people with some sort of anxiety disorder. The fact that Thomas Jefferson didn't seem at all like the type was one of the reasons why Alex had been so shocked at the reveal.

But his throat was closing up already, so much that already he could not speak to say the answer. Thoughts of death and pain and panic, panic, panic were all running through his head, only one slice of sanity cutting through it all.

_John Legend._

It was a weird thing to be thinking about when he felt like he was on the verge of dying. But as he posted on his blog and liked to talk to Macs about - liked to talk to Thomas Jefferson about, it was so easy to separate the two - there was nothing that could calm him down during a panic attack quite like a good John Legend song being played.

Macs knew that. _Thomas_ knew that.

That was when Alex decided to stop separating them.

 _John Legend,_ he thought to himself.

"John Legend," Thomas whispered. Alex didn't know when he had become Thomas. But now wasn't the time to care.

_John Legend._

Thomas opened Spotify - of  _course_ he had Premium - and soon, "All of Me" was playing through the quiet street corner. He took Alex's hand as the song played through the speakers of his phone, and he was whispering something as his fingers ran along the back of his hand.

"What?" Alex asked; already, his throat had cleared up enough for him to do that.

"Nothing."

A song and a half later, Alex felt strong enough to stand up, but Thomas shook his head, picked him up, and carried him with great difficulty because he also had the backpack around his shoulders and was struggling to drag the suitcases along behind him.

"It's okay," Thomas murmured as he placed him into the backpack of his car. "It's going to be okay."

And Alex knew that. He  _knew_ that. But he appreciated the sentiment anyway.

 

Thomas carried him into the guest room bed, tucked him in with more gentleness than Alex had known could exist in  _anyone,_ let alone him, and then took his hand and held it for another hour, whispering things that Alex still couldn't understand.

"What?" he decided to ask after a little while, when his eyes were already sagging with tiredness.

"Nothing." Thomas reached his other hand up and placed it on top of Alex's. "It's nothing."

 

The pattern that they had fallen into was reversed now, though it felt less like a sharp and sudden turn in the opposite direction and more like taking off a tight and uncomfortable pair of pants after a long day. It was relieving, dare he say  _satisfying,_ to unite Macs and Thomas into one, to be able to freely talk again, to eat their meals together and laugh at jokes. And it was just a couple of days before Christmas that Alex realized that he had been falling in love.

Falling in love with his sworn enemy. Falling in love with his best friend.

Falling in love in that little space away from politics and away from work, falling in love in a way that he never in his life would have thought possible before his life got turned around so many times that it was practically unrecognizable, falling into his pillows and his sheets as he laughed at a joke and looking up and seeing Thomas,  _his_ Thomas, laughing along with him.

And so he did another falling, the kind of falling that he always did in this kind of situation, or any other. While Thomas was away at the grocery store, he picked up a pen and a piece of paper, and he fell into his words.

 

The speech was mushy, mushier than any that he had ever written in his life, even the one that he had written when he was seventeen about the hurricane that had shattered his town into bits and pieces. It had the Hamiltonian flowery language that practically everyone at the workplace was used to, but Alex had with great effort toned it down so it wasn't too much. Most importantly, it flowed, and it portrayed his feelings perfectly.

So, of course, when Thomas came in with dinner, he went in its exact opposite direction.

"Thomas," he murmured, sitting up and propping a pillow against the headboard.

"Yes, Alex, what is it?"

"I...really like you. As more than a friend. And I'm not going to say that I don't know where this is coming from, because I do. I  _do._ I may have hated you when we first met, but you've been so kind to me, not just these past few days. But even earlier, when I didn't know it. And you..."

Alex cut himself off and looked down at his hands. The words that came to mind when he thought about Thomas's physical appearance were too much for even him to handle.

"So, I know this is going all over the place, but I guess what I really want to say is that I'm in love with you. So will you go on a date with me?"

Thomas gasped, and that sound was so soft and so gentle that Alex felt that he would be able to shatter the man with just a touch of his finger. He probably could, now that he thought about it. He probably could.

"Of course," murmured Thomas, taking both of Alex's hands and leaning into his chest. "Of course. Alex, I...I don't even know how long I've felt the same way. I just sort of accepted that my feelings were unrequited."

"You shouldn't have," Alex whispered, pressing his lips to Thomas's ear. "If you'd asked me. I would have said yes." He paused. "Even at the beginning. I would have said yes."

"So would I - wait. Alex. What's that?"

Thomas sat up and gestured at the piece of paper on which Alex had written his speech.

Suddenly, Alex felt self-conscious. It was too mushy, too flowery,  _too much_ for this situation.

"Nothing. It's nothing."

"It doesn't  _look_ like nothing. I won't laugh, I promise."

"Okay, fine. But  _don't laugh._ "

"Okay, okay." Thomas picked up the paper and read it, smile growing wider and wider with every word.

"You laughed," Alex protested. "You promised-"

"No. Alex, this...this is beautiful. I-"

Thomas cut himself off and clenched his hands together. Then, without a word of warning, he leaned forward and kissed Alex on the lips.

Alex had never been kissed like this before, so suddenly and so without warning. And the transition from pure bliss to nervous expectation to exhilaration was such that it took him a moment to register what was going on. But once he realized that his crush, the most beautiful man in the world, was kissing him, and that this was real and not just one of his daydreams, he returned it with an intense ferocity. His hands instantly reached up to Thomas's black sea of curls and drowned in them, and he himself was drowning in Thomas Jefferson, and never mind any other feeling or any other place or any other time -  _this_ was the only reality that he would accept.

"Thomas," Alex whispered when the two pulled apart and stared at each other. "Stay?"

"Always."

 

"Merry Christmas!" Alex exclaimed over a Skype call. Thomas was leaning his head on his shoulder, and they were holding hands outside of the camera's view and waiting for the perfect moment to drop the news of their relationship.

"Merry Christmas, Alex," John smiled. "Oh, Eliza has something to show you."

"What is it?"

Eliza emerged into the camera's view, holding in her hands a gigantic coffee mug. This thing was  _huge,_ huger than Alex had ever imagined, and he laughed without willing it at the pure surrealism of the situation.

" _Finally,_ a mug that I can use," he joked. Thomas laughed against him, and it was that laugh that reminded Alex of the main purpose behind the call.

"Hey guys, is it okay if Thomas comes with me to pick you guys up tomorrow?"

"Thomas  _Jefferson?_ " Laf came up behind them and looked at the camera in bewilderment. "I didn't think you two were on speaking terms. Bonjour, Thomas."

"Bonjour," Thomas said with a smile.

"That's actually what I wanted to talk to you guys about." Alex straightened his back and leaned against the couch. "Thomas and I are dating."

Peggy threw the pencil that she had been writing with across the room in shock.

" _What?_ " John practically shrieked, leaning into the camera.

"It's true," Thomas confirmed. "Happened two days ago, but Alex wanted to wait till our Christmas Skype call to drop the bombshell."

"Mmm-hmm," murmured Alex, wrapping an arm around Thomas and pulling him in closer.

_Please accept us, please accept us, please accept us..._

"Welcome to the family," Herc said after a few seconds, grinning widely with excitement. "I'm the crazy uncle, Eliza's the mom, Angelica's the cool aunt, Peggy and Laf are the grandparents, and John is the dad. You'd better have good jokes at the family reunions, or we're putting you in the shame chair and pelting you with various frozen vegetables."

Thomas looked at him quizzically. "What?"

"Well, you see, one day, John and I were at the beach. And then..."

Herc continued the long and epic tale behind the inside joke, the others occasionally jumping in with their own take on the situation. That explanation led them down a rabbit-hole of explaining all of their inside jokes, and the whole time, Alex was smiling with a feeling of pure bliss.

Their whole relationship had been made of little half-spaces. First their blogs and texts, and then John Legend and the empty street and two suitcases, and then days while Alex was bed-ridden and Thomas held his hand as he sat by his side. And now their relationship was inherently a half-space, as all relationships were.

But Alex had friends, too. Friends who were just as important as Thomas. And the whole-space that Herc had just created was what truly solidified the fact that this would be a good relationship.

Thomas clenched his hand tighter and leaned over to kiss his cheek.

 _Yes,_ Alex thought.  _This is much better than fighting._


End file.
